


Guaranteed To Blow Your Mind

by DeacyDrowse



Series: The Purge: Queen edition [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Arguments, Chaos, Gen, Sort of kidnapping, The Purge, as usual, crackfic, developing feelings, i do not own the purge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeacyDrowse/pseuds/DeacyDrowse
Summary: 1972. The year of the 5th annual Purge in the UK.Roger and John decide that this year they’ll stay inside and wait it out.Let’s just hope no one gets in
Relationships: John Deacon & Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Series: The Purge: Queen edition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636195
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29





	1. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not believe that any of the members of Queen would commit any crimes mentioned or have the exact opinions mentioned.  
> This is purely fiction and ridiculous.  
> I also don't believe there were any secret relationships between members of Queen.

_30/10/72_

  
**Roger**

  
It’s soft snoring in my ear that wakes me up, the feeling of a strong arm around my torso and somebody’s petite frame pressed against my back. I must’ve hooked up with that flirty barmaid from the pub Freddie dragged me to. She was nice, very nice. _What was her name again?_

  
Drowsily, I fumble around for her hand, glancing down to find it, slightly confused that I’m still in my boxers. I shake my head as a wave of ‘no I’m not getting up’ washes over me, turning around, still in her grasp and snuggle against her, chestnut hair falling over my face- she’s the only source of warmth due to the lack of heating in the hotel and paper thin sheets. 

_Hold on_. Chestnut hair. Wasn’t she blonde?

  
‘Roger, get the _fuck_ away from me.’

  
My eyes fly open and a pair of steely grey stare at me. 

  
‘Shit, John, i thought you were a girl.’ I screech, shuffling away from my friend. I know John, he’s one for personal space... and boundaries. 

  
‘You’re meant to be the one mistaken for a woman, _Rogerina_!’ He snaps. He’s joking but the fact he’s a little pissed at me hasn’t faded. ‘That’s the 6th time you’ve done that since the Model Village Incident.’

  
‘It’s not _my_ fault us two are always shoved in a room with a _tiny_ bed together!’ I hop out of the double bed and fling on my discarded jeans. ‘Why do those two get a king-sized bed each and us two get a double?’

  
‘Brian claims it’s price but we can afford 4 singles.’ John rolls his eyes and slips out from under the covers, still in the clothes from last night’s gig. ‘I mean we could at _least_ have a twin room.’

  
‘But wouldn’t that mean smaller beds?’ I frown.

  
‘Yes, but I’d be on my own in it.’

  
I look down, shivering a little. Logic tries to tell me that John’s dislike of sharing is just the personal space thing, but everything else is screaming that it’s me. That _I’m_ the issue.

  
I’ve shared with John in pretty much every hotel we’ve been to, and he’s usually ok with it... until he wakes up to me cuddling against him because I’ve migrated to him in the night. I’ve done it countless times, usually waking up before him and managing to wriggle away before he realises. I’ve shared with John in pretty much every hotel we’ve been to, and he’s usually ok with it... until he wakes up to me cuddling against him because I’ve migrated to him in the night. I’ve done it countless times, usually waking up before him and managing to wriggle away before he realises. I think I just gravitate towards him, and like being around him. He just has this _presence_ – the perfect balance between calm and feisty providing me with a strange sense of comfort. 

  
I clearly don’t have the same effect on him. Yeah, I can bring a smile to his face and sometimes coax him out of his shell but he’s never _relaxed_ around me and is never exactly pleased to see me. I think that side of him is only brought out by Fred.

  
‘Am I really that offensive?’

  
‘Well, it gives me flashbacks to your sweaty naked self, running around in a model village outside Bristol.’ He sighs. 

  
‘That was your fault.’ I retort, finally discovering my shirt. 

  
‘Roger, I think you’ll find _you_ suggested strip poker.’ He giggles, a smile tugging on my lips.

  
‘You didn’t warn me about what you’re stashing up here.’ I jab my finger in the side of my head, a little too hard. ‘ _Fuck_.’

  
I hear a snort from the other side of the room and look over to see that devilish smirk of his. 

'Right, last night, you were flirting with a woman, her boyfriend came into the bar so I dragged you out of there. You fell asleep the second I got you through the door.' He reminds me, the vauge memory of a furious, and quite burly, man squaring up to me coming back.

'Oh yeah.'

  
There’s a knock on the door, John gesturing for me to get it. Bri and Freddie come barging in, the singer heading straight for the brunette in the corner.

‘Deaky, darling... please – I beg of you – tomorrow night - the four of us to stick together.’

  
‘Bri what’s happening?’ I look over at the guitarist in confusion. 

  
‘Have you heard how to rich Purge?’ He begins, John and I nodding. I have heard about that - people of a certain place in the pecking order kidnapping ordinary people, relasing them in a maze of some sort then hunting them like fucking deer. ‘There’s a group of them in Kensington. I don’t know who they are but they took the group of exchange students on the floor above us last year.’

  
‘We’ll just install the locks again.’ John shrugs. ‘Worked last year, didn’t they?’

  
‘The students had the same locking as we did!’ Freddie cries, panicking. ‘Oh, I bloody hate this month.’

  
‘Fred, they didn’t have the _exact_ same lock.’ The bassist sends me a knowing look. ‘let’s just go home, Brian and I can reinstall the locks and you and Roger can see who’s the best at shrieking?’

  
‘Deacy.’ Bri huffs. ‘Listen, we need to barricade everything.... and get a better locking system.’ John’s eyes widen.

  
‘No, Brian, I know the-’

‘No Deacy, it’s clearly not secure enough! Also, they left our door handles really warm.’ The guitarist flings my suitcase onto the bed. ‘Get packing, we’re going at 10:00.’

With that the two of them leave, Freddie giving John and I a tight hug. The door closes and the bassist rushes over to me, skittish.

‘What’s wrong.’

‘I don’t have a plan.’

  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John and I decided last month that we’re not participating this year, as not to cause too much suspicion with Bri and Freddie. If we ended up in the same situation as last year - not in the flat and wandering the streets, frazzled - they’d realise something is up. 

  
_‘Thinking of getting justice for the golf club, this year. The council had better watch their backs.’_

  
It’s the 31st, the day of The Purge, Fred’s day of sitting next to the radio, clutching Delilah like his life depends on it. He’s got 4 cats now... we hardly have enough room for them. 

  
_‘This is Margaret here. I was served a raw sausage roll by Brenda last month.... let’s see how she likes bloody meat!’_

  
I try to listen to the twaddle coming from the speakers, but it’s drowned out by the shouting in the hall.

  
‘No, Brian, this system _doesn’t_ work!’

  
‘Deacy, it’s the best one in our price range!’

  
_‘No, it isn’t_. Last year’s one is _fine_. I sorted it.’

  
‘Deacy, _please_ , I know how this works.’

  
‘Excuse me, which one of us has the honours in this kind of stuff?’

  
‘John how many Purges have you set up for?’

  
‘Well, my mother would take us somewhere quieter.’

  
‘Exactly, I have more experience than you... just let me do this.’

  
‘ _More experience, really_?’

  
‘John, I know your scared.’

  
‘'I'M NOT SCARED!’

  
‘Freddie and I found you crying last year because you got locked out!’

  
‘NO, I-’

  
‘You also fucking locked yourself in your room the day before!’

  
‘List-’

  
‘No, John, _you_ listen- ‘

  
There’s a scream, the clacking of platforms down the hall and a door slamming. 

  
‘Ever get deja-vu?’ Freddie quips, scratching Delilah behind the ear. Bri wanders into the room.

  
‘Ever get the feeling someone doesn’t like you?’

  
I ignore them both and stand to leave.

  
‘Never, darling.’ Freddie laughs as I push past Bri and into the hall. 

  
I go to knock on John’s door, but – to my surprise – it flies open, the bassist grabbing me by the shirt and dragging me in, the door closing with a loud bang. He shoves a plank of wood against the door.

  
‘Hold that.’ He orders. I decide not to question him. ‘I’m not spending 12 hours with a _patronising_ poodle and a hysterical mother.’ He growls before hammering a nail through the plank, mercilessly, his eyes like daggers. I stare at him.

‘Blimey, I thought your old group called you ‘Easy Deacon.’’ I remark. John doesn’t look at me, just strides to the other end of the plank, driving the next nail into the wood.

  
‘ _Deaky_?’ Freddie’s voice echoes down the hall. ‘Roger? Deaky?’ John, what are you doing?’

  
He doesn’t answer him. 

  
‘Why did you bring me in?’ I whisper. 

  
‘Needed help with the barricading.’ He sighs, his expression softening for a split second.

  
‘You built a fucking amp on your own.’ I exclaim. ‘Really, why?’

  
‘You don’t treat me like a child.’ He snarls, grabbing another plank. ‘Hold that one on that line.’ He points at the strip of black duct tape on the door.

  
‘DEACY.’ Bri smack on the door a few times. ‘Roger, are you helping him?’

  
John shakes his head at me, signalling for me to be quiet.

  
‘I know you are, dear.’ 

  
‘I wonder if they realise, they sound like over-fussy parents when they’re frustrated with us.’

  
‘ _Both of you,_ open the door.’ The handle shakes.

  
‘Rog, you’ll both be safer with Freddie and I.’

  
I pause.

  
‘Why?’ I snap. ‘I can defend myself.’

  
‘You shat yourself when the anoraks chased us.’ Fred shrieks.

  
‘Yeah, Rog, you’re not always the smartest in situ-’

  
_‘Oh, can the two of you FUCK OFF_!’ John screams, the shaking of the door ceasing and a silence falling over the flat.

  
‘Deaky, I get that-’

  
‘No Freddie, you don’t! I’m _not_ scared, and Roger is _not_ stupid! We’re fine without you two and don’t need you!’

  
There’s no reply from outside. Just fading footsteps.

  
‘John, what’s wrong.’

  
‘They think we’re so useless.’ He mumbles, as we begin attaching the final plank. 

  
I look around the bassist’s room, my eyes resting on the pillow he nabbed from the Ritz last year.

  
‘Yeah... if only they knew.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should hopefully get better.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing, kidnapping, general stress. General chaos.

  
**Roger**

  
_‘This is not a test._  
_This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the start of the Purge. Beginning at the siren, all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 hours. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 am.’_

I sit crossed legged on John’s bed, opposite him, the piercing sound of the siren echoes around the walls. 

‘So, what now?’ I ask, the brunette shrugging.

‘Sleep?’ He suggests. ‘Top to tail obviously.’

The bassist reaches under the bed, pulling out the back pack from last year, taking out the taser and crowbar. He hands the bar to me.

‘Sleep holding this.’ 

I nod and slip under the covers. 

‘Are you sure we should sleep? What if someone comes in?’ I sit back up, John sighing.

‘Like I said earlier, I don’t have a plan... we should hear someone kicking the door in though.’ He snuggles under his duvet, his foot scraping over leg. ‘Sorry.’

I smile softly and try to relax; try to shut out the screams from outside.

  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
_2/11/71_  
_I must’ve forgotten to draw the curtains of the hotel as the glare of the low hanging sun blinds me as I wake up. I turn away from the light and shove my face in the pillow, grunting. The pillow feels like a cloud, it’s silky and plush, a warm waft of niceness coming from it._  
_Next to me I hear a slight groan and turn my head to the side to see John stretching out in his sleep before letting out a light sigh, curling up a little. He’s not exactly graceful but sweet nonetheless._  
_I shuffle a little closer, still keeping a reasonable distance, studying him. Yeah, watching someone into their sleep is quite pretty creepy, but he is captivating. The epitome of pretty._  
_I’ve been thinking about him like this for a while now – admiring. He’s just doesn’t make sense at all, and I never have the slightest idea what he’s doing or thinking. He’s an enigma._  
_‘What goes off in that head of yours?’_  
_He shuffles, hair falling across his face causing him to stir. I reach out and brush it back, John raising his hand. At first, I think he’s swatting me away, but no. He fumbles to entwine his fingers with mine, clumsily, his lips twitching into a smile. He’s probably dreaming about someone – past girlfriend maybe._  
_Outside, a car alarm starts, loud cursing’s toward VW accompanying it. John sighs and gradually begins to wake. I snatch my hand away -not sure the bassist would appreciate a second morning too close to me – and scoot back to the edge of the bed. The ceiling suddenly becomes very interesting._  
_‘Morning bastard.’_

  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something wakes me up. I don’t know what but something. I sit up in John’s bed – he’s still asleep. 

Then I hear it. Knocking; no _thumping_. Scratching and whispering. I scramble out the bed and rush over to John’s end, shaking the brunette by the shoulders. I think I startle him, as he sits bolt upright, our foreheads smacking together.

‘ _Fuck_.’ He glares at me, but quickly freezes. ‘What’s... someone’s getting in.’

  
The thumping gets louder and more erratic. I perch on the bed, placing a hand over John. 

  
‘What do we do?’ I whisper.

  
‘Keep quiet.’ He nods. 

  
_Okay, that’s easy. Just remain quiet._

  
‘ _FACK_! SOMEONES GETTING IN!’

  
John and I freeze, staring at one another. 

  
‘Nice one Freddie.’ He sighs, eyes darting around the room. ‘Roger, get the duvet, follow me with it.’

  
The bassist leaps off the bed and scrambles underneath it. I gather the grey sheets and dive under the bed. 

  
‘Get as close to me as possible and cover-’ 

  
He’s cut off by the sound of the door outside being burst open, wood hitting the floor. I don’t hesitate, I crawl over to John, draping the duvet over us. I feel his arms wrap around me and he grips my shoulders, shivering.

  
‘What about the others?’ He whispers. I can just make out the outline of his face in the dark – he’s terrified. John doesn’t get scared. ‘The last thing I said was that we don’t need them.’ 

  
I hug him back, shushing him, him burying his face in my neck. I cling onto his shirt when there’s a crash against our door. 

  
‘We’re too visible.’ I hiss. ‘We need to be as flat as possible.’

  
Down the hall, there’s a resonating scream and desperate pleas, loud cat meows ringing out. 

  
‘ _Freddie_...’ I realise John’s crying, quietly his tears running down my chest. There’s another crash. I bite back a shriek, my hand flying over my friend’s mouth. 

  
I’m bloody terrified too, probably about to piss myself at any moment, but I focus on John. If I can keep him calm, he should think something up – a way to keep us _all_ safe.

  
‘DON’T HURT THE CATS.’ 

  
‘Listen, please I’m only 25.’ Bri doesn’t get scared easily, either. 

  
There’s another crash at our door, John scuttling back as far into the corner as possible, dragging me with him. His breathing is getting erratic, his entire body quaking. 

  
If they look under the bed, they’ll see him. The shivering.

  
As the door flings open, I scramble on top of John, holding him still with one hand on his arm and pressing my other hand over his mouth. I lie flat on him, as close as I can, keeping my breathing as shallow as possible. 

  
The floorboards of the room squeak, heavy footsteps surrounding us. I notice the bassist’s not shaking as much anymore, so let go of his arm and rub his shoulder gently. He grabs my hand, gripping it tightly. 

  
A strong Welsh accent comes from the hall.

  
‘No one in there... just these two then.’

  
Relief washes over me – and presumably John, his breaths slowing – as the footsteps fade.

  
‘WHAT? WHERES DEAKY?’

  
_Shit_.

  
‘And Roger... ROG?’

  
I open my mouth to reply to Bri, biting down on my tongue when John squeals. _Keep quiet._

  
‘Check the room again, Gilbert!’ The Welsh one orders.

  
I grip onto John, the brunette not moving a muscle. I don’t dare breathe.

  
‘Check under the bed.’ 

  
John tenses beneath me as rustling begins, things next to us being shuffled around.

  
‘Just bits of scrap metal. Nothing else.’ 

  
The creaking of the floor moves into the hallway, the singer still screeching.

  
‘DEAKY? ROGER, honeys. WHERE ARE Y-’

  
‘SHUT UP.’ The Welsh guy shouts. ‘Take these two to the van.’

  
I squeak, cuddling closer to John, still not convinced we’re safe. Even as the door slams and the footsteps and screams fade, I don’t relax. 

  
‘Freddie... they took Freddie.’ The bassist whimpers. ‘They’re going.... we’re going to lose them.’

  
‘No, we’ll get them back.’ I reassure – him and myself.

  
Slowly, I clamber off of John, keeping hold of his hand and emerge from under the bed. The brunette follows picking up the taser he’d put on the bedside cabinet. 

  
‘Get the crowbar.’ He tremors, gesturing to my end of the bed. I snatch the weapon and we gingerly exit his room., the planks on the door split in half, long gashes in the door itself.

  
The hall is silent, every single door open.

  
‘Should we check their room?’ I ask, John steps over to the end of the hall, the door to Fred and Bri’s hideaway.

  
The planks of the door are ripped down, the door itself however is intact. _Strange_.

  
‘Blithering idiots.’ John sighs. ‘The door opens _outwards_.... the planks were put up on the _inside_. Intruders open door, see who’s inside, rip down planks because of cheap nails.’

  
He turns and - to my surprise – pulls me into a strong hug, tense and sniffling. He’s frightened, panicked, nothing like he was last year – tasering people, nabbing cars and killing a man without a care in the world.

  
_Wait_. Nabbing cars.

  
‘Think they’re in ‘the van’ yet?’ I ponder. ‘We might have time to get outside, see where it’s going and follow it.’ 

  
The bassist pulls back from me, head tilted to one side.

  
‘Or drive around until we see it?’ I run a hand through my hair. ‘Anything, just try at least?’

  
John pushes past me, wandering back into his room, returning with the backpack. We rush toward the front door, scanning for dangers, before dashing through the corridors and out into the car park.

  
I don’t think about it, I just leap at the nearest car, smashing in its window before unlocking it.

  
‘You drive again.’ John pushes me into the car. I take the hint and climb into the driver’s seat, glancing at the logo on the wheel.

  
‘Oh _fuck_.’ I groan as the brunette hops in the passenger seat... of the Datsun Sunny.

  
‘roger.’ He shuts the door, staring at me. ‘Getting us a Viva last year is one thing... but this is taking the piss.’ He checks the glove compartment. ‘Keys.’

  
He throws a set of keys, complete with fluffy keychain, at me. The Datsun coughs into life, the wheels catching on the arches with a squeal as we speed off – at a steady 25 – into the city.

  
_We’re getting our band back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I’m not brilliant at feelings.


	3. 3/7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last year catches up with Deaky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS Swearing, talking about killing people, sex references (kind of)  
> Dialogue heavy.

**Roger**

  
The sound of the Datsun Sunny groaning and squealing its way down the high street, gets increasingly more unbearable. The wailing of the tyres against the wheel arches are not too dissimilar to Delilah when someone steps on her tail. 

  
_Oh, the cats_.

  
‘What about the cats? Think they’ll escape?’ I gasp.

  
‘No. They get fed at the flat so they’ll stay at the flat.’ John sighs, staring out the window, voice monotonous. 

  
‘What if they go out looking for Fred?’ 

  
He’ll kill me if anything happens to his cats – his _babies_. That’s if _he_ isn’t killed tonight.

  
‘You say that as if cats have hearts.’ He mumbles. ‘Still remember that time Bri smacked his head on the loo, passed out and Romeo just sniffed at him and went back to sleep.’

  
I glance at the brunette, confused.

  
‘John... you saw him smack against the toilet?’ He nods, not looking at me. ‘Then why did Freddie and I arrive home to you lazing on the sofa apparently oblivious to our bandmate lying unconscious in the bathroom?’

  
The bassist scoffs.

  
‘You say that as if I have a heart.’ John finally turns to look at me, smirking lightly. ‘Roger, are you not cold?’

  
I look down, just remembering I didn’t have time to put anything on, and am in _nothing_ but a pair of tight, white boxers.

  
‘I mean if those get wet.’ He laughs, before pausing. I smile at his words, my friend making a face of disgust. ‘Forget I said that.... _oh god_ why?’ He groans, as I start snickering. ‘Hold on, you _fucking_ laid on top of me like that!’

  
‘John, you’re not wearing much either.’ 

  
The bassist looks down, eyes widening as he realises, he’s wearing only a loose, old, yellow t-shirt and boxers. 

  
‘Shit.’ He sighs, crossing his legs folding his arms over his front. ‘Wait, I shoved my face next to your sweaty chest.’ He cries, shieling me from his eyes, gagging a little. ‘That better not be why my hair is salty.’ 

  
I rub my fingers on my collar bone, a slight dampness there, but not from me – it was where John was crying earlier. I’m about to correct him when i remember what his tears were about. Brian and Freddie. 

  
_You say that as if i have a heart_.

  
I decide not to mention it, and laugh with him at the sweat-face incident. We turn onto Fairfax Place, John suddenly going quiet.

  
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, shuffling on the scratchy leather seat.

  
‘Last year, when Tim was chasing us, we went into that car park at a tennis club.... Brian said about a rich group in Kensington – what if it’s at the club? Posh people always go to a tennis club.’

  
I think back, turning onto Melbury Road. Tim _did_ chase us down here.

  
‘Worth checking.’ I nod, putting my foot down, finally getting the Datsun above 35. Where’s a Viva when you need one?

  
‘Roger, just remember that we're not going to fit in.’ He gestures at us, before gasping. ‘What are they going to think to us two being armed with tasers?’

  
‘Yeah, they’ll be terrified!’ I grin, excited to be saving our friends from evil Waitrose shoppers.

  
‘No! I mean what will Freddie and Brian think?’ John hisses. ‘What will they think to me firing a taser and you running around naked with a crowbar.'

  
‘Me running around naked with a crowbar won’t be a surprise.’

  
‘What if I kill again??’ He gasps, staring into his lap. ‘They’ll ask questions. They’ll find out about Tim...’

  
_You say that as if I have a heart._

  
‘Tim... Bri knew him for years. Was Fred’s college friend. _Your_ friend.’

  
We arrive in the tennis club car park, John spiralling further, trapping himself in his thoughts. 

  
‘John, he stopped being my friend when he pulled a knife on us. And chased us. And brought a roof down on us.’

  
‘That was _me_.’ The bassist snaps. ‘I brought the roof down, damn nearly killing all of us... did kill his mate.’

  
‘John.’

  
‘Then I shoved a taser against Tim’s neck... _did_ kill him.’ He shoves his head into his hands. ‘Then told my friends I don’t need them.’

  
I begin to wonder if last year’s... events have caught up with him. Maybe in the heat of the moment, what was going off didn’t enter his head exactly but now – as we drive around in a stolen car, through the same streets again – it’s come back and hit him, smack in the face.

  
‘What if they’re friends of his? The guys who took Fred and Brian? Back for revenge?’

  
I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder, he jerks away.

  
‘John, I know those Tim. He didn’t have that big a friend group.’

  
‘Or the owner of the Viva? Or someone I tasered? The snorkel _parkas_.’ A sob breaks out, the most unjohn-esque I’ve ever seen John. He’s not someone to sob, or pity himself or anyone really. 

  
‘John, that night included both of us. If anything, or anyone is after us because of it, they would’ve got us two – not Bri and Fred.’

  
‘ _You’d_ have been hurt then.’ He whines, shivering slightly. More gently this time, i place my hand on his shoulder, rubbing his arm in time with my breathing I’m trying so desperately to keep steady. I’m scared, John is not in a position right now to protect himself, or me, and I don’t have the slightest clue how to fight. Except for biting. 

  
‘John, if i got hurt, it’d be my own fault. _I_ did as much damage as you that day _. I_ stole the Viva _, I_ ran around naked, _I_ peed in the model pond.’ 

  
He looks up at me, his eyes red, the grey of his iris like ash rising from a volcano. 

  
‘Oh yeah the pond was that night Freddie and I accidently put weed in tea – but anyway....’ I scan John’s face, not a single change in his expression. He usually laughs at my Freddie anecdotes. We always laugh at nonsense together.

  
‘If they kill him it’ll be on _me_.’ He whispers, staring past me and out the driver’s window. ‘And Bri. I was horrible to him earlier.’

  
‘I take every given moment to remind him how much I want to hit him with a chair.’ I smile. ‘And I’ve known him 4 years... I will still insult him in 50 years.’

  
‘You won’t get 50 years.’ John growls. That does make me flinch, the thought not havingof bri, or any of my band anymore, is not something I want to think about. As much as I love John’s say-it-how-it-is self, it can’t half hurt sometimes. I don’t challenge him though; it just makes the first blow hurt more.

  
‘We should try this tennis club then.’ I try to keep my voice calm. ‘Could be-’

  
‘They’re not here.’ He sighs. ‘Look, it’s shut and no one is in there.’

  
He points at the building and the courts – lights off and no sign of life anywhere.

  
‘Roger, they’ll find out I lied to them last year.’

  
‘ _Both_ off us lied!’

  
‘You didn’t lie about _me_ though! I lied about _you_ , dropped _you_ in it, blamed _you_.’ He screeches. ‘The blame went to _you_ ; Freddie was pissed off at you for weeks for putting me in danger but I put _you_ in danger.’

  
‘John, they presumed.’

  
‘I won’t be Freddie’s... Freddie’s Deaky anymore. I’ll be the lunatic that killed his mate, put the other in a collapsed building and robbed a bank.’  
‘I think you could sever his limbs off and you’ll still be his innocent, cute disco Deaky.’

  
‘Why are you nice to me?’ He snaps, swatting my hand -which was resting on his. ‘You’ve seen me lie to Freddie’s face every day. Giggle sweetly when he says I couldn’t hurt a fly, go all bashful at any given moment. I know he says I’ve got a fiery streak... but no it’s an all-out short fuse and not a _single_ fuck given about _anyone_ or anything.’

  
He’s stopped crying now, leant back in his seat staring upwards, with a blank expression. He’s so all over the place, so confusing... it’s a little unnerving. He doesn’t have a short fuse. A bloody sharp tongue but only because he’s blunt, doesn’t sugar coat anything. If you’re being a prat, he lets you know – and that’s not a bad thing. It has shut me up a few times and stopped Bri and Fred having the mother of all showdowns. Also, Freddie is right – he won’t hurt a fly... flies don’t understand English. 

  
‘You don’t hurt people John... not physically anyway.’ I wrap an arm around his shoulders. 

  
‘roger, I killed a man. More than a man – men... and two girls probably.’

  
‘They would’ve killed us though.’ I pause, realising something. ‘You only killed to protect yourself.’

  
‘Trust me Roger, I don’t protect myself from anyone.’ He murmurs. ‘I don’t care.’

  
‘Why are you crying over Freddie then? And Bri – someone you want to strangle. And Tim – someone who tried to kill you.’

  
‘He wanted to kill you Roger. I was just an obstacle in his eyes.’ 

  
I cup his jaw with my free hand, turning him to face me, him staring right through me. 

  
‘You were protecting me then.’ I state. ‘You _do_ care. You care about _me_.’ 

  
He stays silent. 

  
‘You’re not a liar John, Fred presumed I dragged you out – which in a way I did – then you said Tim was in the car park and was chased in a Viva. No lies just... not the entire truth.’ 

  
‘Stop it Roger. Stop justifying me – I killed a man.’

  
‘Then got up after and protected me. Went on a mad drive across England, fended off snorkel-’

  
‘But earlier, two Welsh psychos had me shivering under the bed using you as a shield, not bothering to save Brian and Fred.’

  
‘John, I wanted to be your shield. Wanted to lie on top of you.’ _Fuck, did i really just say that_. ‘I will never let anything happen to you, and never let you get the blame for anything. You are a mad, confusing, frightening bastard and I love that about you. Shy by day, sassy by night. John Deacon ladies and gents.’ 

  
‘and you’re Roger Taylor – not my emotional fucking dustbin....’ He shakes his head. ‘The second I killed Tim, you should’ve got me out of this band. I’m not a good person...’

  
‘You are to me.’ I smile, ‘And I'll happily be an emotional dustbin. I thought i was happy when I met Bri... then Freddie... but they’re family. My brothers, well Fred acts like a mother at times. You’ve always been a friend until I woke up next to you at the Ritz.'

  
‘And realised I was insane.’

  
‘No.’

  
‘You need glasses then.’

  
‘C’mon honey, you’re amazing.’ _Fuck did I just call him honey_. _I hang around Freddie too much._

  
He shakes his head at me, getting out the car and stepping towards the club. I follow him, the wind outside snaking around my bare skin, every hair on my arm standing.

  
‘ _FUCK_.’ I scream.

  
‘Oh quiet, you squeaky slag.’ John calls over his shoulder, my eyebrows raising. He’s tense, still, not sure if his remark was serious or not. 

  
We enter the tennis club, trophies and shrines to smug men holding racquets and plates. The bassist doesn’t once look at me. 

  
‘Yeah it’s shut.’ I sigh, wandering over to the notice board. Something catches my eye. 

  
_Due to the tyre marks left on our beautiful pathway last Purge, our Purging of a Peasant will take place at the golf club in Richmond Park. We are sorry for the inconvenience but promise good peasants to Purge._  
_1:05 am. 1/11/72_

  
‘John, look.’ I point at the notice. ‘would you consider Bri and Fred peasants?’

  
‘It’s 12:30 now. Richmond Park is where Kew Gardens are.’ The brunette swats my arm. ‘We need to be quick.’

  
He rushes out the building, gesturing for me to follow. 

  
‘Do you have a plan?’ I shout. 

  
‘Yes... I plan to make a plan.’  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you noticed that in a lot of Roger’s songs he says honey?  
> Anyway, hopefully next chapter will be less teary and talky.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the golf club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might just do one of these for every year (until 91) Or until I run out of coats. Or dodgy hatchbacks. 
> 
> WARNINGS: A writer who can’t do romance, swearing, talk of killing, violence.

**Roger**

  
‘Do you know how to get there?’ I ask, climbing into the driver’s seat, John’s sudden change in mood confusing me.

  
‘This is a rental car.’ He points at the bade on the windscreen. ‘Must have a map... start driving.’ 

  
I nod, turning the fluffy keys, taking note of the words _Jezza’s Gear Knobs_ emblazoned on a plastic keyring. Next to me, John turn over in his seat, reaching into the back of the Datsun and the pockets in the seats.

  
‘Map found!’ He shouts as I hit a speed bump, John falling backwards, hands flying out to land on the dash board. He glares at me. ‘Again?’

  
The brunette sits back in the passenger seat, flipping the map open. 

  
‘around ten miles away... twenty minutes without hold up.’

  
It doesn’t take long to find the main road – mainly because someone’s dumped all of _TK Maxx’s_ stock on the outside land and set it alight. Five girls are sat around the blaze, holding out marshmallows as Vienna sausages on forks.

  
We carry on, crossing into Hammersmith, and onto Great West Road.

  
‘Is Kew gardens west London?’ I check, John shooting me a look.

  
‘We should be heading past Furnivall Gardens in a second.’ 

  
Keeping an eye on what, and who, I’m passing I get the Datsun up to 40. Soon, an expanse of green comes into view on the left, a few trees and benches whizzing past us, a group in mackintosh coats stood next to a Dacia.  
_Wait_....  
‘Can those lot just decide what coats they like?’ The brunette sighs, removing the crowbar from his bag.

  
‘Didn’t we kill most of them?’ I hiss, panicking when the Mackintosh Coats get into their vehicle, which is in much better nick than our fucking _Datsun._

  
‘Only a few. Must’ve found more... recruits.’ The bassist unclicks his seatbelt, holding onto the glass-free part of the window with his left hand, pushing himself out the window.

  
‘JOHN ARE YOU BLOODY INSANE?’ I shriek, thinking back to what happened last time these coat-nutters chased us when John didn’t have a seatbelt. ‘What if i hit a speed bump?’ 

  
‘We’re on a motorway, he steadies himself, his entire torso out the window, keeling on the seat with one foot propped on the door handle. ‘I can’t get the angle right!’

  
‘That’s because you’re _leaning out a fucking window._ ’ I slow the car, frightened for my friend.

  
‘Speed up – they’re faster than us.’ The bassist shouts, his hair flying out behind him like a flag. He raises his hand to the oh-shit handle, pulling himself upwards.

  
‘John no...’ 

  
He swings one leg out, his other foot pressing into the seat, the brunette sat on the door. 

  
‘Do you have no mercy for your testes?’ I shake my head, not daring to go above 30.’Is there not glass there?’

  
He ignores me, slowly raising the crowbar, as if to throw it.

  
‘Don’t distract me, no sudden gear changes, no speed changes.’ John retracts the crowbar before catapulting it at the Dacia, the tool smashing through the windscreen, hitting the driver in the face.

  
‘Nice shot.’ 

  
‘Oh, shut up!’ My friend clambers back into the car, shivering. ‘Fucking freezing out there.'

  
‘Should’ve though about that before straddling the window.’ 

  
Again, he ignores me, watching the Dacia hurtle onto someone’s lawn, a wicked smile on his face. I cock my head to the side, puzzled.

  
‘So, you sob for five minutes over killing Tim, then nearly decapitate a man without hesitation.’ 

  
John stares at me, one eyebrow raised slightly.

  
‘It wouldn’t have decapitated him.’ He says, nonchalantly. ‘They haven’t – oh they have. They have crashed but not too badly.’

  
‘I don’t believe you sometimes.’ I snap. ‘First, you’re scared stiff at the flat, _then_ you breakdown in the car, _then_ you ignore me and crash a Dacia--’

  
‘ _They_ crashed the-’ 

  
I cut him off.

  
‘Exactly. Yet there you were, crying that you brought down a building when I did.’ 

  
‘ _I_ grabbed the wheel.’

  
‘Fine... but Bri and Fred being kidnapped _isn’t_ on you either. But you think it is and can’t handle that. Then kill a man again and don’t care.’

  
‘Roger, _I do care_!’ The bassist screams, as we cross a bridge over the Thames. I slow the car to a halt at his outburst. ‘I’ve not stopped thinking about Bri’s face when he found out Tim was killed. Fred when he saw the images of the night – the burnt garage, the attack that had happened in the car park. You, _your_ face when we were being chased. How you reacted when you thought I was dead.’ 

  
‘Well, I tossed you out the window.’ I try to smile, but i’m worried. He’s rambling, almost, stressed. Guilt ridden. 

  
‘Why did you protect me?’ He asks. ‘Under the bed, why did you suddenly take over and help me? Not your friends.’

  
I cough a little, gazing at him. He won’t meet my eyes – god does he think I hate him? Thinks I think he’s a danger? Well, he is, but a danger I like, that I feel safe around.

  
‘John... c’mon honey you are my friend.’ I exclaim. ‘Anyway, even if we could get out and help – which we couldn’t due to barricading ourselves... those two are idiots in tricky situations. All four of us killed on the spot.’

  
‘Why did you protect me.’ He growls. ‘Just answer me.’ There’s a strong gust of wind outside, blowing through the window, the air pinching my bare skin.

  
‘Because you’re special.’ I reach to rub his shoulder. ‘No one quite like you, for certain.’

  
‘Way too many people would get hurt if there was two of me.’ John glances at me briefly. The idea of two of him isn’t that bad.

  
‘You’ve never hurt me... not that badly.’ I sigh. He really couldn’t hurt me – _not ever_. 

  
‘I’ve never hurt you?’ He smiles, eye’s glinting a little. I shake my head.

  
‘Never.’

  
The bassist shrugs, before retracting his fist and slamming directly in the side of the face, folding his arms and looking out the window. I stare at him in shock, cupping my face, surprised my teeth and nose are intact. _Wasn’t expecting that._

  
‘Just get the message Roger, I’m not a good person.’ 

  
I tap his shoulder, he doesn’t flinch. Huffing, I grab his shoulder, and force him to face me, scanning his quivering body, both of us breathing heavily from the cold. He stares at me, directly in the eyes.

  
‘Go on then, hit me back.’ 

  
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I lean over to him, and – for some reason – fucking kiss him.

I’m holding his shoulders, stroking his crinkled shirt with my thumb. The bassist tenses, but not pulling away, my eyes are closed but I just know his are wide, shocked at me. I’m bracing myself for him to smack me again, but no, he just stays still. After a few moments he relaxes a little; I smile against his cold lips. I tilt my head, forgetting his long ass nose, mine donking against his. 

  
‘ _Fuck_.’ I pull away from him, my breaths erratic, the chilly wind from the Thames making my teeth chatter. John doesn’t look at me, his face a picture of confusion.  
I decide to buckle my seat belt again, restarting the Datsun and carry on across the bridge. Did i really just kiss him? _John Deacon_? My bloody bandmate? Yeah, i did it before – out of relief – but this is different. The last one was mortifying and embarrassing, but this time – I'm estatic. _I kissed him._

Suddenly, there’s loud revving behind us. I look in the mirror – a yellow Austin Healy is behind us, a burly man at the wheel.

  
‘DRIVE.’ John screams. 

  
I slam my foot on the accelerator, the Datsun almost complaining at what I’m asking of it. 

  
Oh, is it the bloody coat-nutters, again?’ I whine.

  
‘No. I think he might be from that football club we passed.’

  
I glance at the man again, realising what John means, and yell at the car to go faster. The man, thankfully, isn’t in the fastest car either. We carry on down the main road, searching for a turn off point to shake him off. 

  
I don’t t though, the steering isn’t brilliant on this thing.

  
‘ _Quicker_.’ The brunette hisses. 

  
‘Come on, you _stupid_ hatchback!’

  
After what feels like an eternity, a junction comes into view, next to a murder and a fire. We speed past, my eyes not leaving the road as we head up what is certainly _not_ a road.

  
‘What’s that?’ John shivers, a stretch of blue looming ahead. 

  
‘ _Shit_ , it’s a pool.’ 

  
As the bassist flings the backpack out the window, I hit the brakes, hard as I can. They fail, and the Sunny still careers into the pool. It sinks like a cannonball, John pushing himself upwards, toward the roof however I’m pinned down by my seatbelt. The water engulfs me, and the whole car, the water levelling out. I hold my hand over my nose and mouth, keeping my eyes open as John flings his door open, dragging me out with him.

  
‘ _Swim_.’ He mouths as we free ourselves from the car.

Swim... I can swim – _can’t I?_ I learnt last year.

  
However, it happened too fast, the icy waters were too much of a shock. My mind goes blank and I flail my arms around, panic taking over and i shriek, my throat burning as i inhale the freezing water. His arms wrap around me, tight, before I’m thrust above the surface, coughing madly. John shoves me onto the side of the pool, getting out before thwacking me on the back, forcing the water out of me. I wheeze, crying, hugging my waist. 

  
‘Roger?’ John shakes my shoulders gently. 

  
‘Oh, look what we have here lads.’ An aloof voice booms above us, several guffaws surrounding us. I glance up, five men in tailcoats sneering at us.

  
‘They look like peasants.’ One chuckles, brandishing a sword – a _fucking sword!_

  
‘Roger...’ John takes hold of my hand. ‘Run.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I’ve never written a kiss before. I’ll be back to my usual blow-up-a-garage writing by the next chapter  
> Also, I read that Roger didn’t learn how to swim until he was 22.  
> Any feedback is appreciated


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kew Gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do feel this sequel is a bit of a let-down.   
> ***KEW GARDENS DOES NOT HOST ANY PEASANT PURGES***  
> WARNINGS: Swearing, a little violence and - you know the drill.

**Roger**

  
I’ve had some weird dreams in my life –due to Freddie’s terrible cheese-to-egg midnight-omelette ratio – but not one has been quite as surreal as this. Running around in nothing but my, now quite transparent boxers, trying to get away from (now 6) men in tuxedos carrying swords, across a golf course. It’s freezing – i’m fairly sure the droplets of water on me are turning to ice, my hair is slowly becoming solid. John’s not much better – his hair matted against his face and shoulders, his sleeves probably feeling like kisses from the devil himself on his wrist.

  
‘Are we splitting or staying together?’ I ask, flicking my hair out my face – it feels like I’ve got a clump of seaweed from Antarctica on my head.

  
‘Don’t know yet.’ The bassist shivers. ‘ _God_ , I hate wet clothes.’ 

  
We carry on running, my Adidas making a sickening squelchy noise. _Hold on._

  
‘John, are you still in platforms?’ I look back at him – he is. ‘How the _fuck_ , are you running?’ 

  
‘Why else do you think I’m lagging behind?’ He hisses. ‘And I’m not going bare foot. Passed way too many dog eggs.’

  
_Dog eggs?_

  
The golf course is lit with a few streetlamps – thank god. We approach one of the greens of the course, John briefly forgetting the existence of gravity. 

  
He grabs my arm, skidding forwards – damn nearly doing the splits – screeching. He slams into the back of me, sending both of us to the ground. 

  
‘Maybe you should go barefoot?’ I sigh. 

  
‘’No, these are part of me!’ The brunette whines, scrambling to his feet. 

  
‘You’re worse than Bri with those fucking clogs.’ I roll my eyes, glancing over my shoulder, the golfing murderers charging towards us.

  
I grab John’s hand, both of us steadying each other as we patter across the green and onto less slippy ground. The course is massive, seems to stretch on for an eternity, a few clumps of trees dotted everywhere.

  
‘Could we, maybe, cut through the trees? Like weave around.’ I suggest, heading to the nearest one. 

  
‘No... we’ll go in and they’ll surround us.’ My friend, points ahead. ‘Kew Gardens isn’t that far now – loads of places to hide.’

  
I nod, quickening my pace – my breaths getting heavier with every footstep. Yes, years’ worth of drumming has blessed me a lot of stamina however, I don’t usually go onstage at -1 degrees, after nearly drowning. Don’t think anyone has. 

  
My legs kill and my feet are on the brink of falling off. Glancing at John, I realise he’s wearing too.

  
‘Find a spot to hide.’ He whisper-shouts, as we approach a swathe of bushy trees, patches of red and auburn mixing with the sad looking green leaves. ‘Get our breath back... and I don’t know – just hide.’

  
Dashing into the trees, the gap between us and the golfers neither shrinking or expanding, John and I stay off the paths weaving their way around the gardens. Thorny planks snag at my bare legs, white owls above us scaring the life out of me. Through the branches looms a small elegant cottage, straight from a fairy-tale.

  
‘There?’ I point ahead at the house, my eyes darting around looking for the posh-lot.

  
John nods and we emerge onto the clearing where the cottage is situated, rushing over to it. Next to the door is a little golf buggy type thing. The two of us exchange a knowing look, before John hops into the driver’s seat, brushing down the passenger seat for me.

  
‘I’m driving – you’re not crashing.’ He sighs. I snicker and climb into the buggy, the bassist steering us onto the clearing _before_ I’ve even seated. ‘Sorry, got to be quick and get out of here...’

  
There’s a path out into the gardens, a fucking spine shattering path, but still a way out. A way out to...

  
‘John, where are we going? Back to the golf club?’ My friend shakes his head.

  
‘No, if they were there, the golf lot wouldn’t be going after us. They also weren’t Welsh.’ He turns a corner of the path, leading us into another clearing with a pond in it. ‘I don’t know where to go. Can you think of anywhere else? Anywhere posh or Welsh like?’

  
‘We’re in London – 60% of it is posh.’

  
‘I think Camden significantly reduces that percentage.’ The bassist deadpans, glancing at bright yellow shrubbery in confusion. ‘Well that fucks up the colour system.’

  
‘Only you in times of great peril fuss over a knife in the fork drawer.’ I groan. 

  
‘It’s _you_ that keeps doing-’ John freezes, the buggy slowing to a halt. In front of us stand the golfers, in a line, brandishing their swords. 

  
‘Are you armed?’ One bellows. 

  
‘Well what do you think?’ I gesture at mine and John’s lack of clothing. ‘Don’t exactly have anywhere to hide anything.’

  
‘From the way you sound, I think you _do_ have a hiding place.’ The brunette next to me mumbles. 

  
The golfers stalk towards us, John immediately restarting the buggy, heading straight for them.

  
‘I don’t think this’ll do that much damage!’ I scream, shutting my eyes, the sound off metal scratching against... whatever this buggy is made out of, slaughtering my ears. I open them again, looking around at the six men chasing after us. 

  
‘DRIVE!’ I scream.

  
‘No, Roger, I was going to stop and have glass of Asti Spumante – _what d’you reckon_?’ John snaps.

  
Behind us, there’s a whirring as the golfers come at us in two more golf buggies. 

  
‘THIS IS THE SHITTEST CAR CHASE IN HISTORY!’ I screech, punching the air. We continue, the bassist pushing the buggy’s wheels to their limits. 

  
Suddenly, the buggy dips into a hole in the ground, tipping upwards. There’s nothing to hold onto, and no doors or windows. The two of us just fly out of the thing, rolling onto the muddy floor, leaves and god knows what sticking to my legs and chest. My face is covered in... _something_ – dread to think what but it stinks.  
I glance over to John, but he’s gone- nowhere to be seen. I panic, he’s not been himself tonight – he’s been skittish and all over the place, not thinking properly.

  
‘ _John_?’ I squeal, as heavy footsteps approach me. ‘ _Fuck_ not today!’

  
Springing to my feet, I hotfoot it through the gardens, searching for both the bassist and a way out. In front, a set of steps rises from the ground. 

  
I’m probably fitter that whoever is after me. Should out run them up here.

  
I rush up the steps, my shoes squeaking and slithering on the slightly damp wood. The steps lead to a walkway through the treetops, the only lighting coming from the half-moon above me. 

  
I can hear someone stomping up the stairs – the beam from a torch flashing up at me. Skidding a little, I dash onto the walkway, grasping the handrails when I can, to keep balance. I look over my shoulder – one of the tuxedo golfers is right on my tail. He’s younger than the others, can’t be more than 35.

  
Then it all happens way to fast. My left leg flying out in front, my stomach smacking into the barrier, the world turning upside down as I tumble over the edge of the walkway, grabbing onto the rail for dear life, my damp and blistered hands not helping. I feel one of my shoes slowly slipping off my feet as they dangle in the air; I must be at least 20 feet off the ground. My middle aches, the wind knocked out of me, the ground below spinning slightly.

  
‘John?’ I rasp, scanning the gardens. ‘ _John_?’

  
‘He’s a little occupied with my friends at the moment.’ A light Irish accent sighs. I glance up to see a fairly kind face. ‘Now, as much as I need to Purge, got a lot of pent up anger lately, your friend does seem a little... feisty.’

  
I hear a scream not too far from me, followed by a few crashes. 

  
‘Let me help you back over.’ The man takes hold of my arms and pulls me upwards, and back onto the walkway. ‘The names Reid. You?’

  
‘Roger.’ I reply. ‘Know any other things like this? The whole Posh Purge?’ 

  
‘Hampton Court Palace has a big one. They go around flats... tend to get students.’

  
I gasp.

  
‘My friends were taken earlier! Would they-’

  
‘When were they taken?’ He interrupts.

  
‘Uh... around 11? Don’t know.’

  
‘Yeah, they’ll be dead by 3.’ He states, bluntly. ‘How about I give you and your... your friend my keys and you get over there. I’ve got Porsche 911 parked around the corner. Take that.’ 

  
He hands me a set of shiny keys, ushering back to the steps. John is waiting at the bottom of them, his hair covered in dainty little leaves and white flowers, petals and twigs clinging to his shirt. I look down at myself and try to work out if it’s fox shit on my nipples or mud.

  
‘See your journey out of the golf buggy was more graceful than mine.’ I quip. The bassist wanders to me, reaching up and my hair and removing a long branch from it. 

  
‘I landed in a rhododendron bush.’ He sighs. 

  
Reid leads us out of the gardens and to his Porsche, John nabbing the keys from me.

  
‘ _Crashing_.’ The bassist glares at me and gets in the car, the engine growling to life. Waving bye to Reid, i slip into the passenger seat, leaping out my crap caked skin when John just slams his foot down, tearing down the road at 50. He’s got a small smile playing on his lips as he keeps his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

  
‘Could have had some warning?’ I squeal as we turn onto the main road. ‘Hampton Court Palace – he recommended there.’

  
My friend nods, looking upwards and whispering to himself before spinning the car around – the force of it nearly tearing my face off – before speeding in the other direction. I don’t think John will ever run out of surprises for me.

  
‘Right, how much time do we have?’ He asks, eyes not leaving the road. 

  
‘Until 3... enough time to get weapons and...’ The bassist turns sharply off the road and onto a main street, braking suddenly outside a sports store. ‘John, can I _please_ keep my spine?’

  
‘I think a few bats should be okay... also get hats for masks. Bri and Freddie won’t know who we are then.’

  
‘But Freddie has seen me naked more times than I remember.’ We exit the car, checking for murderers, before running into the shop.

  
‘Jackets over there... _oh yes_.’ John wanders behind the counter in the corner, raiding the till before grabbing a wrench from a table and a cricket bat.   
_He raids the till..._

  
‘How much have you taken.’

  
‘28640 pence.’ He shrugs. 

  
I snicker, gazing at him in awe, before grabbing a few anoraks and black bobble hats before rushing out to the car, flinging on the (slightly oversized) coat as I go. 

  
‘You have the bat and I’ll take the wrench.’ The brunette zips up his before revving the Porsche again, roaring back onto the main road.

  
It doesn’t take long to get to the palace – not at the speed of John’s reckless driving anyway – but I still have this sinking feeling we’re too late. 

  
‘John... no matter what happens – we tried.’ I murmur, the thought of not having Bri or Fred in my life making me shiver. 

  
‘Stop being such a drama queen.’ Parking next to the toilets near a rose garden, John quickly creates a balaclava thing out of the bobble hats. ‘Push your hair under the hat then put your hood up.’ 

  
We exit the Porsche, my friend passing me the cricket bat before casually strolling into the grounds of the palace, holding the wrench by his side. 

  
I think back to earlier, him crying in the Datsun, his outburst on the Thames. He’s not been okay tonight... now we’re faced with god knows how many lunatics with swords. How many of my bandmates am I going to lose tonight?

  
Suddenly, a cackling woman in a shimmering maxi dress leaps out of nowhere at the bassist, holding an axe above her head. Without a moment’s hesitation, he smacks her in the side of the head with the tool. He rolls his eyes at her before flicking his hair back over his shoulder, the rodehe - whatevers, flying out behind him, before strutting off again.

  
I let out a sigh of relief – he’s back to normal.

  
I won’t be losing _anyone_ tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, only about two more chapters of this nonsense to go.   
> ***HAMPTON COURT PALACE DOES NOT HOST ANY MURDER PARTIES***


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be realistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Sex references, swearing, violence.  
> Also, ever heard Roger’s Michael Jackson impression?

**Roger**

  
Adjusting my mask, I follow John – his head up and shoulders back. I’m trailing a little, still gagging at the smell coming from what’s attached to me, my jacket making a grating noise against the leaves. I break into a small jog to keep up with him. 

  
‘What do we do if they’re not here?’ I hiss. ‘There’s also going to be all of South England’s elite here.’

  
‘Good, the arrival of two blokes, one covered in shit and one holding a tool should frighten them.’ The brunette smiles at me. 

  
‘Yes, and think we’re peasants!’ 

  
‘Then we’ll explain that you’re a dentist and I’m an electronics engineer.’ He shrugs. ‘Do you know nothing about the class system?’

  
‘No – because I’m living in the _19_ 70s not the _18_ 70s.’ I sigh. ‘Anyway, we’re not a dentist and engineer we’re a bassist and a drummer!’

  
‘Got the deg- _shit_.’

  
John suddenly grabs me and shoves me into the rose bush next to us, my bare legs being ripped to shreds. I bite the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from screaming – the bassists obviously flung us in this hedgehog of the plant world for a reason.

  
There’s a rumbling noise and I peek through a gap in the mauve flowers, my mask catching on the thorns. On the other side of the garden, a van slowly travels down a gravel road before heading onto a path through a small woodland – I think it’s called the Wilderness.

  
‘Wait.’ I gasp. ‘The maze here is on the other side of that park.’ I glance over at John who has the stem of one of the roses threaded through his mask. Knowing my luck, I’ll have one caught on my arse... or worse. I shiver at the thought. 

  
‘Say we follow?’ My friend slips his hand around mine. ‘Keep down low.’

  
We crawl out of the shrubbery, my legs caked in even more dirt and dead leaves – John getting out with just the rose attached to the hat. 

  
‘Even if we fell in a skip – you’d get out gracefully and looking sweet. I’d come out with a cabinet stuck on my head.’

  
The brunette smirks before gingerly sneaking across the grass, eyes darting around. I’ve had experience in creeping around a stranger’s house in the dark (usually to find the exit so i don’t have to apologise in the morning) but this is unnerving. Any second now an accountant wielding an axe could run at us whilst the mayor of Chelsea’s wife hacks me to death – something I _do not_ want.

  
Eventually, we reach the other side of the garden, John discarding his new floral accessory, and cross the path. The Wilderness stretches out before us, the shadow of the van peeing through the branches.

  
‘Are you sure the maze is through here?’

  
‘Certain, Freddie dragged Bri and I here because he wanted to see the gallery... and to have cake.’ 

  
The bassist pauses, staring at me.

  
‘So, they know the maze?’ His eyes light up with hope.

  
‘Well, Bri and I got stuck in it for half an hour... security came looking for us because Fred thought we’d been kidnapped.’ I snort. 

  
‘Remember the way around?’ John taps my arm, motioning for me to walk faster. ‘Pay _any_ attention on the way out?’

  
‘No, it was just before the Hyde Park Incident.’ I whine. ‘Anyway, I was sort of... just a little bit – kind of drunk.’

  
‘Course you were.’ My friend shakes his head before speeding up to a jog. ‘Keep to the path.’

  
The trees thin out to reveal rows of hedges, set out in a trapezium, the van parked outside the entrance to the maze. The passenger door opens and I pull John behind a tree, pressing him up against it to keep him out of sight.

  
‘I’ve got an idea. If any obstacles come up – you hide and I’ll distract, you can then dive in and smack them with the wrench. I’m good at distracting, you’re good at being bad ass.’ 

  
I peer around the side of the tree as two men in suits chat leant against the side of the van. One looks over and I duck back behind the tree, suddenly realising how close John and I are – our chests touching and my hands on his shoulders. We’re that close I can feel his steady breaths against my cheek. I can only see his eyes, due to the mask, and they’re ever so _slightly_ threatening. Sweet, nonetheless. My eyes drop down to his lips, as I find myself biting my own. I tremble against him and trace my hand down his arm.

  
‘ _Roger_.’ He thwacks my chest with the back of his hand, huffing. ‘I don’t think Bri and Freddie will appreciate your penis being higher on your list of priorities than their lives.’

  
I splutter.  
‘My cock has _no_ part in this!’ I keep my voice down but I want to _fucking screech_ at him.

  
‘Your pants are transparent and tight – it’s participated in this _entire_ night!’

  
Actually, I _do_ want the mayor of Chelsea’s wife to hack me to death. Slowly. With a spoon. 

  
I don’t have any more time to think about this however, because of a familiar voice.

  
‘WHERE ARE WE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DARLING DEAKY?'

  
The younger boy against me smiles, glancing over his shoulder and around the tree, eye's glinting.

  
‘Are they hurt?’ I whisper, shivering when he pulls me closer again.

  
‘No, but they’ll see us.’ I rest my chin on John’s shoulder, keeping us flat against the tree. ‘Low light – we’ll just look like part of the tree.’

  
‘Listen, gentlemen-’ There’s the harsh sound of skin on skin, as (i presume) one of the men slap my friend. 

  
I tense, shaking against John, my breaths quickening as posh voices start shouting.

  
‘The peasants have arrived.’

  
I hiccup, as the noise of shoes dragging along gravel echoes through the trees, pleads and obscenities coming from Freddie as Bri hurls insults at everyone.

Screwing my eyes shut, I bury my face in John’s hair, my lips hovering above his ear.

  
‘They’re _terrified_.’ I whimper, heavy footsteps and laughter approaching us.

  
‘We’re not though.’ The bassist states, firmly. 

  
I’m amazed by how calm he is, how blithe he is about everything, suddenly. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest brings my breathing down and I shake off the panic. 

  
‘You’re right.’ I gently plant a kiss above his ear, getting not a single reaction from the brunette. ‘We’re not scared.’ 

  
‘Stick to your plan?’ He asks, ‘You prance around whilst I do all the work?’

  
‘Yeah, the opposite of our gigs.’ I quip, taking his hand in mine – our fingers like icicles.

  
‘No. _Freddie_ prances around at gigs and _I_ wish for the roof to cave in.’

  
I shake my head at him before leading us toward the edge of the maze, keeping low and out of sight. However, I kind of forgot one small thing – how to get _into_ the maze.

  
‘Is the only entrance at the front?’ John snarls. ‘You twat.’

  
I take a few steps back. Glancing around the side of the hedge, a group of ten elegantly dressed people gathered around the entrance to the maze. Freddie and Bri are nowhere to be seen.

  
‘They’re already in there.’ I gasp, my brain suddenly disconnecting from my body. I just start running, at the hedge before launching myself at it, smashing through the leaves, vines and branches licking at my legs and face before I land on the ground with a thud. 

  
‘ _Fuck_.’ I groan, rolling onto my back slowly. I look over to where I came from, the hole in the hedge perfectly framing a perplexed John. He wanders over, stepping through the gap. Folding his arms, he stares down at me.

  
‘Is this why _you’re_ the distraction and I’m the wrench whacker?’

  
‘Sort of yes.’ I nod, scrambling to my feet. ‘Never speak of that again.’

  
‘I’m sure you’ll do something more ridiculous before I have the chance to bring that up.’ 

  
The bassist turns on his heel, walking off with a heavy dash of arrogance. I rush infront, bracing the cricket bat and warily delve into the maze. There’s scuttling and whispered chuckles around us. 

  
I consider calling out for our friends – then imagine Bri’s face when he discovers Deacy and I are car stealing taser maniacs. Can’t figure out if it’ll disappointment or horror. Freddie’s will be murderous. 

  
John then suddenly dives into a nearby hedge, as running footsteps get louder. A man with a sword (what is it with the fucking swords?) comes charging at me as I raise the bat, squealing like a pneumatic drill. I swing the bat at his weapon, tossing it out of his hands then smacking him directly in the forehead. The brunette emerges from the leaves, eyebrows raised.

  
‘Excuse me, we had a plan?’ He snaps. 

  
‘I knocked him out didn’t i?’

  
We continue through the maze, I try to remember where we’ve been and any ‘land marks’- getting lost won’t be excellent. In the distance there’s a resonating scream, followed by several ‘fuck offs.’

  
_Good, found Freddie_.

  
I quicken my steps, trying to follow the sound. John cuts infront of me, slamming a bloke in the face with the wrench as we turn a corner. However...  
Out of nowhere, a tall woman grabs the bassist by the back of his jacket, holding a knife across his neck. He freezes as I back away.

  
‘Put the bat down.’ She growls. ‘He’s mine.’

  
John nods at me and I cautiously lower the cricket bat, holding my hands up, my friend dropping the wrench. 

  
‘Good... now what are you doing, gate-crashing our party?’ She laughs, looking down her nose at John. He shuffles, on foot slightly raised off the ground. I smile, knowingly. 

  
‘Must be a pain in the arse.’ I snicker. 

  
The brunette flicks his leg up, kicking the woman directly in the crotch before spinning around and shoving her to the ground. I snatch the bat, hitting her in the head with it before dashing off into the maze, John following suit.

  
We’re like a machine, every one we run into receiving a platform to the arse and a bat to the face; their knives and swords no match for our effortless precision and timing – our connection, our-

  
‘FUCKING! THAT _FUCKING_ HURT YOU _FUCKERS_!’ 

  
John recoils as he realises what he’s done – he’s kicked our singer in the testes, hard. I hold back a laugh at the wide, shocked brown eyes in front of me, accompanied by shouts of... not pain, but annoyance.

  
‘Oh, just _why_?’ He snaps. 

  
Next to me, John whips out a thin scarf from his pocket, jamming it in Fred’s mouth before tying it around the back of his head. He nods at me, frantic, as if to say ‘say something.’

  
‘I... I’m _sorry mate_.’ I swallow, shocked my voice could go that high. I sound like kid from Jackson 5. Forget his name. ‘You guys are _mad_ if you don’-’

  
John starts miming at me to ‘ _cut it the fuck out_ ’ with steely eyes. I turn away, awkwardly, looking out the hole in the hedge from earlier. In the distance, a long shadow darts across the Wilderness, the floofiest curls flying out behind him. _Bri_?

  
The brunette must’ve seen him too as he pushes Freddie to me and sprints out the maze, after the guitarist. However, Fred refuses to move.

  
‘You’ll never take me ali-’ He pauses. ‘ _Wait_ , not that I want you to kill me. Let me go?’

  
I roll my eyes and fling to singer over my shoulder, gripping his legs. Of course, he starts screeching and smacking my back.... like he has done when Bri caries him out of a bar after a rather long night.

  
I run, as fast as I can with a hysterical Freddie Mercury slung over me – in the direction the other two went. There’s a scream. I’m certain it’s Bri’s. There’s also laughter. Then it dawns on me.

  
‘Oh shit.’ 

  
My suspicions are confirmed. John has Brian in a headlock before throwing him to the ground, pinning both his arms behind his back, grinning smugly through the hole in the mask. I clear my throat and the bassist looks up at me, his smile disappearing immediately, then letting go of our friend and standing. I sigh. 

  
‘Good, now-’

  
I’m cut off by the guitarist springing to his feet, towering over John and lunging at him. The bassist doesn’t bat an eyelid, just grabs Bri’s left shoulder and punches him in the cheek, knocking him unconscious. My mouth drops open as the brunette giggles, 

  
_‘Wait here.'_ He mouths before running off into the Wilderness. Freddie struggles against my arms, squealing. 

  
A short while later, the Porsche roars up the path, knocking down one of the posh-lot on the way. John hops out, casually wandering over to Bri and lugging him over to the car, opening the boot and shoving him in. I shrug and do the same with Freddie, ignoring his protests. The bassist slams the boot shut, winking at me.

  
‘What now?’ I hiss, getting in the car.

  
He doesn’t answer, just starts the Porsche and speeds off, out of the palace grounds and onto a B-road. He doesn’t even look at me. I decide to stay quiet, and get my head around what’s just happened. 

  
I saved my mates and they’ll never know. I did a good thing for once, didn’t annoy them and they’ll never know it was me. John attacked Bri. I’m not sure if i expected that or not.

  
‘Think here’s okay?’

  
I’m so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even register where we’re going, or how long we’ve been driving. Or that John had driven us up a hill in the middle of nowhere. We’re in a car park next to a small cafe. I just make out the sign on the grass. 

  
‘‘ _Spankers Hill Car Park. Richmond.’’_

  
I snort.

  
‘Yeah, they can hide in the cafe.’ I laugh. Wandering around to the boot, John holding the cricket bat.

  
‘Brian might’ve woken up.’ He shrugs.

  
‘Woken? He sleeps the sleep of the dead!’ 

  
I open the boot, revealing a still unconscious guitarist, Freddie also passed out, eyes flickering in his sleep. We remove them from the car and take them to the cafe, laying them down on the sofas in the corner before returning to the Porsche

  
‘Feel a bit bad.’ I mumble, looking to my feet. ‘Tonight, must’ve been awful for them.’

  
‘It’ okay.’ John smirks. ‘Do you know how to get to Battersea?’

  
‘What power station?’ I frown, the bassist sniggering.

  
‘ _No_! Dogs and Cats home.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s long. Also, I highly doubt the mayor of Chelsea in 1972’s wife was a murderer.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've never written kissing scenes or romance before - forgive me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing and sex references.

**Roger**

  
John slams the door to the Porsche shut, glaring at me.

  
_‘No_ Roger!’

  
‘But, Reid said we can keep it.’ I sulk. ‘I’m sure this Jezza can get another Datsun! This is not a fair swap!’

  
I look between the frog-faced car infront of me and the sign reading ‘DATSUN 2’ on the wall. 

  
‘It’s only fair.’ The bassist holds his hands up, nonchalantly. ‘Now let’s get these lot home.’

  
He hands me one of the carry cases, two bright eyed cats staring out at me.

  
‘why do I get the fat two?’ I whine. 

  
‘Don’t call Goliath and Oscar fat!’ John removes the other carry case from the car. ‘Tom and Jerry are _kittens_ , there’s a difference.’

  
We wander down the street, as I give the Porsche an apologetic look for leaving it in that crummy garage. 

  
‘Did you leave a tip on the counter in the centre?’ I ask.

  
‘No, of course not! They’re cats not coffee.’ 

  
Luckily, _Jezza’s Gear Knobs_ was only a few streets away from the flat, and the roads were quieter. John goes ahead of me into the flat, poised to fend off any intruders.

  
‘All clear!’ He calls, heading straight for mine and Freddie’s bedroom. ‘Should we settle the cats in here?’ 

  
I nod, bringing Goliath and Oscar into their new home, staring ahead at the brunette fussing over the little kittens. If someone just saw him like this, petting a little green-eyed fluffy thing, cooing – they’d never suspect he’d just driven over a man and punched his friend in the face.

  
‘What now?’ I ask.

  
‘Barricade my room again.’ 

  
We set up my bed for the cats, creating a small den for them – Romeo and Derek immediately snuggling up together. Outside, there’s a scream and banging – something at the end of the street lighting up. The bassist ignores this and steps off to his room, rolling his eyes at the hole in the door caused by the axe earlier. _Fucking hell, that feels like a lifetime ago_.

  
After quickly changing into clean pants and a t shirt, I follow, and pick up the extra planks in John’s room to barricade the door. 

  
‘Hold on, won’t people hear? The hammer?’ I ask. 

  
There’s another explosion outside – followed by what sounds like half of Kensington falling over. I look over at my friend, a smirk breaking out on his face. It only takes a few minutes to fix the door and I flop back on the bed, horizontal, sighing in relief to be sitting down. _Safe_. 

  
‘Roger, why did you kiss me?’ The brunette lays next to me, glancing over. ‘Is being smacked in the face a kink or something?’

  
‘Oh _god_ , John – _no_!’ I screech. ‘I wasn’t going to hit you back. Just suddenly _did it_.’

  
‘Why?’ He repeats, staring at me with a concerned look. ‘You said I was special before. Why?’

  
‘You are! Really special. _Mad_ yes, but a truly... remarkable person.’ I shudder, bracing myself to be killed. Complimenting John is like pogo sticking through a minefield.

  
‘Just gloss over the rudeness, the danger and the general hostility and yes i agree.’ The bassist deadpans.

  
‘Yeah, that’s why you’re special. You’re all those things - and may i add terrifying – but in such a... loveable way.’ I pause. _He’s going to smack me, again isn’t he_? ‘Sorry.’

  
‘I hate you Roger.’

  
I wheeze, shaking my head. 

  
Then he shuffles closer, a little hesitantly. I meet his eyes, they’re conflicted, as if he’s having a small internal war. I push myself upwards, leaning over him, stroking his arm. Tilting my head, I move closer, brushing my lips on his cheek. Outside, the street lights up again, squealing coming from the flats above us. The bassist sniffles, before nodding. 

  
Then I do it. I press my lips to his, soft and cautious. At first, he freezes, then – to my surprise – relaxes back into the sheets, kissing me back, mouth opening a fraction. Shaky hands wrap around my neck as he bringing me in closer, pulling away for a brief second for breath then reconnecting our lips. I smile against him, gasping in joy, wrapping my arms around him. He pushes my shoulder back, rolling us onto our sides, pressing our chests together. 

  
There’s no lust, no wandering hands, no _battling for fucking dominance_ \- just long fingers tracing down my face and mine stroking his shoulder. Our lips separate, John eyes flying open, his hand trailing down my back, hugging me. He says nothing, it’s all in his face – shining eyes and a gentle smile. I stroke his arm, fingertips ghosting his side. Then his hip.

  
He clears his throat, entwining our fingers and guiding my hand up a little. 

  
‘Sorry, forgot how quickly your legs began.’ I pause. John snickering. _Why the fuck did I say that?_

  
‘Control your mouth for fucks sake.’ He sighs. 

  
_Control your mouth._

  
‘I like you.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I like you, John.’

  
He stares at me, squinting a little before sniggering.

  
‘Yeah, _no shit!’_ He lets go of me, rolling onto his back again. ‘I’d say it back but I don’t express feeling and you know that.’

  
I beam at him, giggling. I do know him – enough to know what he’s saying. I lean back over, planting a peck on his cheek, him turning slightly and catching my lips again, humming into the kiss. Suddenly, he sits bolt upright.

  
‘God, what about Bri and Freddie?’ John gasps, hand hovering round his mouth. I sigh, sitting up and rubbing his back.

  
‘Bri won’t care. Freddie will be a bloody hypocrite if he makes a fuss.’ I reassure him. ‘They know I’m bisexual... won’t care if you’re... whatever you are.’  
The bassist shakes his head.

  
‘I don’t mean _that_.’ He snaps. ‘I mean if they - Freddie will kill you.’

  
It clicks. The singer is bloody protective of Deaky – but surely not _that_ protective.

  
‘I only kissed you John. He might be happy actually.’

  
‘Oh _no_ darling,’ He does his best impression of Freddie. ‘It wasn’t just a _kiss_ – _dear_ – you’re just desperate for a shag and _you know it.’_

  
He’s right. I once accidently flirted with his sister and Fred wrestled me out the bar, furious.

  
‘Bri will lecture me, probably. In their eyes you’re still that timid little 19-year-old, tripping over a chair in the audition room – then apologizing too it.’

  
‘And you’re Roger Taylor – _spread ya legs please, let’s be ‘avin-’_

  
‘SHUT UP.’ I run a hand through my hair. ‘Listen, John. I like you because of you not because I want to stick my cock somewhere. You mean more than that.’

  
His cheeks turn pink, eyebrows raised, letting out a light giggle followed by a sigh.

  
‘We could keep it quiet. Be discreet.’ The brunette’s eyes glimmer with mischief. ‘We went to the Ritz without them knowing, Purged last year without them knowing.’

  
‘Saved them from kidnappers.’ I cup his cheek and turn him to face me again, him licking his lips subtly. ‘If only they knew.’ 

  
His dampened lips connect with mine again, decorous and warm. 

  
_You say that as if I have a heart._

  
He doesn’t need to say anything aloud – the very fact he’s happy to be this close to me and to accept my feelings tells me I must mean _something_ to him. I think I’m special to him too. 

  
‘I’m tired.’ He mumbles, out of the blue. I pull away, nodding as he slips under the covers – still in his jacket and platforms. ‘Actually, can i get changed?’

  
‘Yeah sure.’ I hop off the bed, to exit the room – forgetting about the barricaded door, walking _straight_ into it. John cackles behind me. 

  
‘Just avert your gaze.’ A few moments later, a hand grabs my wrist and pulls me to the bed. ‘ _Don’t_ get any ideas!’

  
I say nothing, just slip under the covers, John lying next to me, turning away and keeping a respectable distance.

  
‘Roger, I kind of knew what I was to you the second I woke up to you spooning me in a model village... and almost every other night we shared.’   
I snicker.

  
‘Night John.’

  
‘Fuck you Roger.’

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
I’m woken by frantic knocking on the door, snorting as I lift myself up. I’m on the left side of the bed – next to the wall, John blocking my way out. He’s breathing steadily, on his back, hands crossed over his stomach. 

  
‘why do you sleep as if you’re in a coffin?’ I whisper. There’s not a single flinch.

  
The knocking continues. I glance at the clock -7:30. _It’s not a murderer then._  
However, waking John _would_ result in murder. I climb over him, careful not to make any contact. Then there’s another problem.

  
The door is still barricaded. There’s more knocking.

  
‘HANG ON.’ I shout, rifling around under John’s bed – he must have something to bring the planks down with. I find a crowbar and attack the door, the bassist somehow remaining asleep despite the incredible racket I’m making. Finally, I get out of the room and rush to the door – well the doorway. The door itself went missing last night.

  
Stood in the doorway is a redheaded girl, a large friendly smile on her face.

  
‘Hi.’ She waves at me. ‘I’m going around each flat. Have you seen a Datsun Sunny?’ 

  
I damn nearly shit myself. 

  
‘I mean, last year it was my Vauxhall...’

  
_SHE HAD THE VIVA?_

  
‘Now my – oh hi!’ 

  
She waves again, and I turn to see an unimpressed bassist stood behind me, holding the money from the sports store last night. He doesn’t look at the girl, just hands her the money.

  
‘A few teens nabbed it last night. There’s a rental place around the corner – they have a car in Datsun 2 for this amount.’ He nods at the money, the girl taking it, her grin widening.

  
‘Thank you so much!’ 

  
She hurries off, John turning back around, eyes rolling. 

  
‘Can we _please_ fix the door. Before I kill someone.’

  
_Bit late for that._

  
‘The flat down there’s empty – we can take those doors.’ The brunette says, casually.

  
It takes a few hours to restore the three doors that were wrecked – John complaining that the doorknobs wouldn’t be easy to connect to the mains – and even longer to herd the cats back home because Miko took liking to a fly in the hall. We’re sat in the living area when there’s another knock.

  
‘DEAKY?’ 

  
‘Peace no more.' John groans, standing. He kisses my forehead quickly before wandering out to the door. 

  
Seconds later, I see him stumble backwards down the hall, a screeching Freddie clasping to him. Bri follows, running over to me and enveloping me in a hug.

  
‘Did they do anything to you?’ He asks, looking down at me, concerned. ‘What about Deacy?’

  
The bassist screeches, before managing to peel Fred off of him.

  
‘Deaky? Deaky, darling are you okay?’ The singer follows the brunette back to the sofa. 

  
‘Deacy, where _were_ you?’ 

  
‘Roger and I hid under the bed.’ John shoves his head in his hands. ‘I was _so_ scared. Thought we’d lost you!’

  
I shake my head as he starts sobbing. _Ever get deja vu?_

  
‘They looked under the bed though...’ Bri glances at me, looking me up and down. ‘Roger, why do you smell of fox shit?’

  
‘Deaky smells like flowers.’ Fred murmurs, before frowning. ‘They did look under the bed.’

  
‘Roger pulled a blanket over us, covered me and used himself as a shield.’ John shivers. ‘He was great last night.’

  
Goliath then pads into the room, nuzzling Freddie’s leg, the singer gasping. 

  
‘Oh yeah, nearly forgot. Four strays came and hid in here.’ I lie. Well, they _were_ strays.

  
‘Four? I have four more cats?’ He squeals. 

  
‘The police officer that found us said animals are great for emotional recovery. Eight cats should get him better.’ Bri nods at him. ‘Last night, the last thing I remember is setting up the barricade. Then woke up in a cafe... and my face hurts for some reason.’

  
‘You poor darlings. Must’ve been _awful_ last night. Must’ve thought we were dead.’ 

  
Fred pulls John into a hug, the bassist staring at me, as smirk flickering on his face. 

  
_If only they knew_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a train wreck.  
> Any feedback is appreciated.  
> Should I do a third?


End file.
